


Shadow Hide You

by Gloomier



Series: Elder Scrolls: Middle-earth [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Actual Thief Bilbo Baggins, Alternate Universe - Elder Scrolls Fusion, Alternate Universe - Erebor Never Fell, Elder Scrolls Lore, Fluffy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Reunions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 16:27:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13930851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gloomier/pseuds/Gloomier
Summary: 10 years ago Thorin, King Under the Mountain, journeyed West to strengthen ties between the Lonely Mountain and Belegost, but also to befriend the Halflings. What he didn’t count on was meeting his One during his stay in the Shire, only for them to mysteriously vanish after the first courting gift was offered.In the years since the disappearance of Thorin’s One, an infuriating group of thieves have made their den in his city and a stranger has somehow managed to wiggle their way into his court.Thorin likes surprises about as much as he likes thieves.





	Shadow Hide You

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of thanks to polymathic_dragon for the beta!
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://tea-blitz.tumblr.com/)

Ten years ago something completely unexpected happened to Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain: a chance meeting that put into motion events that he had never thought would happen. For the longest time Thorin believed that he would never find the other half of himself, his One.

Of course he never thought to look for his promised in the Shire.

Thorin visited several cities of Dwarves, Elves, and Men, but never had visited the land of Halflings; not until he had gone West, with the intent of strengthening relations with the Dwarves that made the Blue Mountains their home. It had been Dís’s idea to seek friendship with the Hobbits as he would be passing through the area. And perhaps he had been rude to begin with, but his attitude toward the people of the Shire had begun to change once he had met one  _ particular _ Hobbit.

Only Thorin couldn’t quite recall much of the hobbit, and a thick fog rolled into his mind when he tried. He ached to remember even the smallest detail of them, the color of his eyes or the way he smiled, his name.  _ Anything! _

He could hardly remember the words spoken between them these days. Each time he awoke, Thorin swore he felt another piece of him fade away. The faint musical laughter that painted his dreams was slowly growing distant and soon he would have nothing.

All that Thorin could remember these days was the little mimicry of a flower crown—forged with precious metals and stones—he had boldly offered the Hobbit he wished to court.

Nine years ago Thorin had reluctantly returned to his mountain heartbroken and without his other half.

Thorin refused to return to the mountain at first, the inexplicable disappearance of his One had left him an angry mess that nearly cost him the new friendship between the Lonely Mountain and the Shire. It took Thorin many months before he would consider abandoning his search for his missing betrothed, but in the end he left Nori and a few dwarves behind in the West to continue the search.

Seven years ago a group of thieves moved into Thorin’s city.

At first they we’re just a minor nuisance, but then they grew bolder as months passed. They’d gained notoriety as the Thieves Guild, stealing from some of the mountain’s richest nobles, and it wasn’t just Thorin’s mountain that was targeted. Dale and Esgaroth—especially Esgaroth—also had a strong guild presence within their bounds.

As the years went by hunting the vermin, Thorin had come to discover that many who had been burgled and swindled weren’t so honest nor honorable as they claimed. The Gray Fox, the guildmaster of the Thieves Guild, was a constant source of debilitating headaches for Thorin, always managing to slip between his fingers. The exploits of the Gray Fox were sung throughout the darker parts of the region—often where the beggars and less fortunate were concerned. Thorin held a deep hatred for the criminals, and though he wouldn’t make a royal announcement professing his eternal gratitude for their outing of corruption and aiding the people who needed it the most, he was grateful that they were more civil than freelance criminals in the way that they refused to maim or kill their targets.

While the kingdom’s wealth wasn’t targeted often, the Gray Fox seemed to take much pleasure out of tormenting Dwalin—running circles around his men, both figurative and literal—and on occasion Thorin, whose crown disappeared at least once a month, reappearing no more than two days later in the most ridiculous places.

It turned out that the Thieves Guild was the least of his problems when a Hobbit had joined his court.

According to a few sources no one knew when the Hobbit had shown up, only that he had come, and then proceeded to buy up all the declining businesses—with the apparently vast sum of gold he had brought with him—in the Lonely Mountain. Normally when such a thing happened it wasn’t done by outsiders, and certainly not by a Hobbit. The folk of the kindly West very rarely ever ventured out of Eriador (though Thorin had hoped his One would make the exception for him). The strange thing was, all the businesses that had been bought up by the Hobbit had begun turning out decent profit in the short time they were newly acquired, more profit than any of them had seen in recent years. Then he had gone on to purchase a rather prominent jeweler boutique, raising a few red flags and quite a few disgruntled Dwarvish voices.

The purchases had helped propel the unknown Hobbit into Thorin’s court, however minor the power their seat held. No matter how much digging was done to discover their true nature, nothing of any worth was ever brought to light. The Hobbit would come to the few meetings held a month, sit quietly and smile, charming the wealth right off the other nobles (and Thorin wished that was just a figure of speech). Those he spoke to never felt any sort of unease, but always seemed to exit the conversation a little confused. Thorin had come to find that even staring at the Halfling too long made him go cross-eyed.

Ten years passed, seven of them less exciting than the first three, but no less irritating; and in recent days Thorin wondered if perhaps he invited bad luck into his kingdom by acknowledging the dearth in that excitement.

_ “Thorin,” _ Dwalin had rumbled. Not just in his usual gruffness either, but in  _ that _ tone, the one pitched low and hesitant— _ cautious. _ Thorin grew up with the other Dwarf, they got into all kinds of trouble together, and so Thorin knew very well that something had happened—Dwalin had even addressed him by his name, and not his royal title.

Thorin sat upon his throne, back stiff, fingers tightening around its stone arms in anticipation of the news Dwalin had brought.

“Tell me.”

A long time ago when Thorin’s grandfather was King Under the Mountain a stone was found. At first it had been thought to be just a normal gem, nothing special about it beyond its unique and magnificent beauty. It was named the Arkenstone and was said to have been a gift from Mahal himself. As time went on it was revealed that the stone had within it some sort of magic. The stone allowed Thrór to peer into other places that he would have otherwise been unable to see—things outside his field of vision.

Thrór had dearly wished to see Khazad-dûm back under the rule of Durin’s folk. One evening, as the king held the gem in his hand, mind heavy with thoughts of the lost Dwarven kingdom, he was pulled from his body and transported a great distance from the Lonely Mountain to Khazad-dûm. What Thrór had seen in its dark orc-infested halls no one really knew, only that the stone had shown him a terrible fiery shadow in the great depths of its mines.

It had foretold his doom.

The vision alone had steered Thrór away from his desire to march on the lost kingdom.

No one had seen nor touched the Arkenstone since Thrór had been laid to rest; both it and the king were sealed within the confines of a stone tomb.

“The stone is gone,” Dwalin finally said, shamefaced.

Thorin inhaled sharply, and the King’s Guard winced as though he’d been stabbed. It took what little restraint—that hadn’t been sapped right out of Thorin’s body—to keep from shouting the mountain down around their ears.

“What do you mean,  _ it’s gone?” _ Thorin growled venomously. There’s was a vile thought niggling at the back of his skull, gnawing away at his calm. He could hear the words before Dwalin found the courage to look him in the eye and speak them.

“It was stolen, by the Gray Fox.”

It wasn’t often that Thorin lost his temper so spectacularly, but explode he did.

“There is one doorway that leads down to that tomb!” Thorin roared, launching himself up and out of his throne, and nearly down the stairs of dais, his volume increasing with every word he spoke. “There are multiple guards on duty at all times, and you—” the king paused, violently pointing down at Dwalin, arm trembling with rage “—let that rat slip through your fingers!”

Dwalin’s eyes were wide with fear as Thorin’s rained hell down onto him.

If the story about the stone was to be believed, now that it was in the hands of the Gray Fox, who knows what could come of it. Who could say what kind of power the Arkenstone truly had, and what it could provide the Thieves Guild with.

Thorin increased security in all sensitive areas, and offered a hefty rewards for information concerning the whereabouts of the Gray fox, or his capture.

In the weeks following the burgling of the Arkenstone, two more objects went missing, one more obviously than the second.

From Dale, a family heirloom of King Bard was taken.

The Arrow of Extrication, as it was called, was a broken arrow missing half its shaft, whose arrowhead was shaped like a key. It was a peculiar object with more sentimental value than a monetary one.

The second object turned out to be a pair of boots, aptly named the Boots of Springheel Jack, for they allowed their wearer to jump to incredible heights, or fall from great heights and land safely. They had been pulled right off the feet of a Lakeman who wore them.

Who else could need such a strange and obscure items other than the Gray Fox?

Thorin wanted to believe that the theft of the Arkenstone and the two recent heists were connected, but there was no proof that the arrow or the boots were stolen by the Gray Fox. But Thorin could feel it in his bones.

Eventually the excitement over the recent thefts abated, and Thorin went back to focusing on ruling his kingdom while those under his command remained ever vigilant. For a time things seemed to have worked themselves out, and Thorin found himself worrying more about his younger brother, Frerin, and his sister-sons, Fíli and Kíli, turning the kingdom upside down. Meetings and paperwork were as troublesome as ever, although that annoying Hobbit noble had missed several meetings, a silver lining of sorts he supposed.

The issues of the past continued to smolder at the back of his mind, and Thorin found himself returning to those thoughts often. On this particular night those very thoughts refused to leave him, no matter what Thorin did to try and distract himself. There was a profound feeling of wrongness that he just couldn’t shake.

The next day the news came.

Orthanc, the stronghold of Saruman—leader of the Wizard Order and keeper of the Elder Scrolls—had been infiltrated, and one of the Elder Scrolls was stolen.

The messenger that had come to deliver the news had very little details as to how such a feat was accomplished, only that the thief had masqueraded as someone else, and as far as it was known it had only been one person to commit the crime.

To think that someone would even attempt to steal such a thing. They were powerful artifacts that defied all logic and magic, left behind by the Valar after the forging of the world for who knows what. No one could read them, not without serious consequences anyway. Only the Wizards could manage such a feat, and those who trained under them—the moth priests.

Thorin couldn’t see the link between all the thefts, and though he had no proof, such an audacious theft stunk of the Gray Fox.

Erebor was put on full alert nonetheless. The thief would not get away this time, Thorin would make sure of that.

*

It was a mistake to hold an open court this late in the evening, but a guild dispute earlier in the day had pushed back all of Thorin’s duties. Normally Balin and his team of underlings were enough to deal with the guilds, but a conspiracy to artificially inflate the cost of some materials was brought to light. Those guilds not in any way affiliated with the guilty parties were ready to riot, and that meant Thorin had to get involved.

He took great pleasure in knocking several Dwarves down a few pegs.

Thorin had just finished dealing with the last of his petitioners when the doors to the throne room opened again.

The new arrival wore a hood and it wasn’t until they stood before the throne that Thorin recognized them.

“Nori?” Thorin murmured in disbelief.

Thorin’s heart thudded in his chest. Since leaving Nori in the West their only contact had been through ravens, but as the months passed missives leaving and arriving in the mountain had ceased; Nori stopped answering, and Thorin stopped sending ravens. Thorin didn’t know how to feel now that Nori stood before him.

“It’s been ten years since I left you in the Shire, and five since you stopped replying to my missives.” Thorin declared cooly, brushing away his initial shock.  “Why come now?”

Nori pulled back his hood and made to approach the throne, but the guards who were spread out around the area drew their swords; Dwalin placed himself between Thorin and Nori.

“Stand down.” Thorin ordered. Dwalin shot Thorin a disbelieving look over his shoulder, and Thorin answered it with a glare of his own. He was king, yes, but that didn’t mean Thorin was incapable of protecting himself. There were plenty of weapons hidden on him. 

Dwalin relaxed and signaled for the others to do the same, then returned to his post.

For the first time since he came in, Nori spoke. “I have something for you, your Majesty.”

Nori reached beneath his cloak and after a moment pulled his hand back. He held something between his finger and thumb, but Thorin couldn’t quite see what it was. It wasn’t until Nori continued walking towards the raised dais that Thorin recognized just what the other dwarf held in his hand.

“Take it. It’s a gift from a stranger.” Nori said, standing before Thorin on the dais, arm held out to the king. A modestly bejeweled silver ring sat in the Dwarf’s palm, its tiny emeralds glinting their long awaited hello.

Thorin went completely still but his mind was in complete disarray; a million questions threatened to spill from his lips, and his heart thudded like drums during the Durin’s Day festival. Thorin reached out and plucked the pocket-warmed ring from Nori’s hand and tenderly cradled it in the cupped palm of his own.

“This—this ring belonged to him… my One. He’s been missing for ten years now, and for some reason his name and face escape me at the moment,” Thorin whispered as his eyes glassed over with emotion. “I never thought I would see it again.”

Though he could not remember his beloved’s name or face Thorin could recall with striking clarity the night he had gone to the most ill-equipped forge he’d ever been in, and set to work on crafting this ring for the Hobbit that had ensnared his heart. His Hobbit had stated on several occasions that Hobbit’s could not be wooed with gold; but a silver ring with the thriving greenery captured within the emeralds set in it seemed to do the trick. “What I wouldn’t give to see him once more.”

So lost in his reminiscing of days long past, Thorin remembered Nori stood before him. The anger and sorrow that burned through his veins consumed the wonder and surprise that seeing the ring again had brought. 

“How did you get this this? Do you know his whereabouts? Why are you showing it to me?” Thorin demanded thunderously. The perceived slight in Nori failing his given task colored Thorin’s expression; the glare he leveled at the dwarf was murderous.

Distracted with focusing his hatred at Nori, Thorin didn’t notice that there was another person on the platform with them. 

“You do not have permission to be in here.” Dwalin stated loudly, catching everyone’s attention.

Thorin shifted to look over Nori’s shoulder. Standing before the throne was that annoying outsider, their eyes glued to Thorin. Without a word, the Hobbit reached for the messenger bag that hung around their shoulders and slipped a hand in. Dwalin and the rest of the guards tensed, waiting for the outsider to pull something dangerous out, but instead the Hobbit pulled another strange leathery-looking bag out. Carefully they unfolded the leather and raised it to their head, slipping it on.

_ The Gray Fox. _

_ “You.” _ Thorin spat venomously and pushed Nori out of the way. “I’ve been betrayed!”

The audacity of this thief enraged Thorin more than his lost love ever could.

Before anyone could react proper the Gray Fox was pulling another object from the bag—a scroll looking object. 

WIth deft hands the Gray Fox pulled the scroll open and spoke aloud. “By the power of the Elder Scrolls I name Bandobras Took as the true thief of Nocturnal’s Cowl.”

The thief began to glow faintly at first until they were consumed by light, nearly as bright as the sun, before it quickly faded leaving everyone to rub their eyes. The Gray Fox removed the cowl. Where once Thorin could barely discern any remarkable features of the outsider, Thorin could not only see them, but suddenly he was remembering every memory he had forged with his beloved. 

“I am the Gray Fox, but you’ve not been betrayed.” the Hobbit spoke again as he put the scroll away, but his words were directed at Thorin this time. “I am also your missing betrothed, Bilbo.”

“Bilbo... Is that really you?” For a second time that evening Thorin’s world was crumbling around him. But oh how he hoped this wasn’t a dream. “Ten years I’ve waited for word from you. Why did you hide from me?”

“Ten years ago I inherited the cowl from the former guildmaster of the thieves guild. I became the new guildmaster, but I also received its curse. Whoever wears Nocturnal’s Cowl shall have their name stricken from history.” Bilbo said bitterly. “Once I donned the Cowl no one in all of Arda could recognize me. With the Cowl I became the new Gray Fox; without it, I was a stranger, even to you.”

The thought of Bilbo becoming a stranger to all those in his life, not being able to carry on a normal life. It pained Thorin to think on it and all the time he had lost because of such a curse.  Who would do such a cruel thing to someone as to give them a cursed object? 

“You mean you were unable to return?” Thoin asked, voice thick with emotion.

“I’ve stood right next to you and you didn’t even know it!” Bilbo exclaimed, “I cried out to you ‘Here I am! it’s me, Bilbo!’ but you just looked at me, confused.” Bilbo deflated, his hurt smouldering into exhaustion.

Seeing the pain on Bilbo’s face struck a deep blow in Thorin, but watching the Hobbit keep himself in check chipped away at him. All he wished to do was embrace Bilbo but after everything, all the waiting and having to deal with the growing escapades of the thieves guild, his beloved at the head of it all, Thorin felt hollow and broken. He was king, he couldn’t just ignore the transgressions of a master thief purely on the grounds that he was Thorin’s One.

The words that left his mouth next pained him more than anything before this had, “You have broken my heart for a second time. I cannot let the infamous criminal mastermind, the Gray Fox, become the Consort of the Lonely Mountain.”

A spark of determination lit a fire in Bilbo, and the sudden change sent shivers down Thorin’s spine; his own courtly attire rubbed strangely over the goose pimples on his arms.

“From this moment forward, I renounce my life of crime forever. I am passing the Gray Cowl of the thieves guild to its new guildmaster.”

The finality and genuineness of Bilbo’s words choked Thorin up. He was ready to do what he needed to protect himself and his kingdom, even if that meant removing Bilbo from his life. How was it that he ever came to doubt Bilbo after all that he had come to learn about the Hobbit? Thorin felt ashamed, but he could not bear to look away from Bilbo. As he descended the steps of the dais Thorin only allowed himself to blink when he stood before Bilbo, his fingers gently gripping the Hobbit’s arms.

“I’ve missed you,” Thorin whispered hesitantly, “I thought—I believed you didn’t wish to be with me.”

“Not a day has gone by without my thinking of all that I had lost that day ten years ago.” Bilbo said, smiling at Thorin, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

Bilbo rose up on his tiptoes, resting a hand on Thorin’s shoulder to keep him steady, and pressed his lips to Thorin’s. It was hesitant and sweet, Bilbo’s lips were warm and spoke of love and longing. Thorin did not get the chance to do this all those years ago, and before he could properly savor the touch of their lips Bilbo sank back down.

“If you’re not too terribly cross with me, perhaps you wouldn’t mind giving me a second chance.” Bilbo said, voice cracking under the weight of his emotion. 

And when the tears finally came, they were tears of relief and joy from Bilbo and Thorin both.

Were anyone paying attention, they might have seen Nori slip away with Nocturnal’s Cowl.


End file.
